Mid-Battle
by Mary West
Summary: Sandor has something to say to Gendry - if Gendry can stay alive long enough to hear it. Set in the middle of the Battle for Winterfell, rated T for an awful lot of swearing.


Too much blood. There was still too much blood coming out, on top of the huge puddle that lay underneath the lad.

"Fuck."

Sandor's regular refrain meant more now. He grabbed a nearby hanging and hacked a piece off with his dagger, heedless of the antiquity or value of the finely-woven fabric. It wouldn't matter after tonight. Either this blacksmith would live and they'd have to make a run for it as the castle burned, or they'd all die anyway and no-one would care about any fucking tapestries.

"You'd better not fucking die on me, Gendry. Not now." Sandor pushed the cloth into the wound on the lad's back, holding it in with a leather strap that was supposed to hold a breastplate on. It would have to do. The dead had been thrown off the wall near the North Gate, but had managed to climb over next to the Broken Tower. How, Sandor had no idea. For all he knew, they were ripping their own armbones off and sticking them in the cracks in the masonry to act as ladders. Actually, they probably were doing exactly that. It wasn't as if they had any shortage of skeletons.

And they were throwing spears. It must have been one of the accursed White Walkers because the wights were incapable of anything but swinging a sword around. But the White Walkers had icy spears, and it was one of these that Sandor had seen flying down towards Gendry just as the blacksmith had delivered another box of obsidian arrowheads to the archers on the wall. He'd stopped to wave at Arya, who was hefting her bastardised staff, then turned to go back down the stairs. And it was at that moment that his face had gone from a pleased smile to a shocked look. He had fallen the small distance to the courtyard, landing on a wagon filled with straw that had originally been used to bring the dragonglass into Winterfell.

Sandor pulled the hefty projectile from Gendry's back, then threw the lad over his shoulder and ran for the Keep. The main Hall was filling rapidly with wounded being cared for by the Tarly boy and the more able of the castle's women, but Sandor had to stop on the way. He felt the dampness on his shoulder through the layers of armour, which meant that Gendry was losing blood. Lots of blood. So he stopped in the corridor and tried to staunch the bleeding.

Gendry moaned.

Good. That meant he wasn't dead.

"Listen to me, you misbegotten brat of a whoreson king and a whore's daughter. I know you can hear me." Sandor paused for a moment, and the groan of pain gave him the encouragement he needed. "I know what you are. And no, I don't mean your bloody parents."

At this, he paused. He hated feeling vulnerable. But desperate times lead to desperate measures.

"She loves you. I saw you. And her. Outside the forge last night. Kissing like a pair of lovebirds. It was sickening, I tell you." Sandor grabbed the water bottle off his hip and put it to Gendry's lips. To his relief, Gendry actually swallowed a couple of mouthfuls, although a great deal ran off down his face. "If I'd known what you mean to her, I would never have let them take you north of the wall. So you listen to me."

Gendry's arm moved, as if waving him to go on. Sandor decided to take it as such. Besides, he needed a moment to get his breath back before taking this bastard of King Robert to the Hall. And to make his own position clear.

"If you ever harm that girl, I will find you and kill you myself. I mean it. If you physically hurt her, if you cheat on her, if you break her heart, I will pull your limbs out one by one and make you watch as I beat you to death with them. And before you die, I'll feed you to the fucking dragons." Sandor stood, then hefted Gendry back over his shoulder and resumed walking to the Hall.

"And dying counts as breaking her heart. So you'd better not, because you'll have me to fucking well deal with. And I won't be gentle, trust me." The tall man ducked his head as he entered the Hall, looking to Samwell who directed him to lay his bundle on a nearby stretcher. This he did, to be rewarded by a cry of pain from Gendry.

The blacksmith opened his eyes and looked directly at Sandor.

"Did you hear me, cunt?"

"Every word." It was an effort for Gendry to get the words out, but Sandor heard them. Especially the next part. "She loves you too. You're like a father to her."

"Fuck off." Sandor turned and stalked out as the carers gathered around Gendry. But if anyone had caught a glimpse of his face, they might have seen a small smile.


End file.
